But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. But she was only able to save a corner of the letter. ‘Yes, I know. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?” “I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. ’ ‘Why the devil should you be interested, I should like to know?’ rejoined Roding.
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